


A Little Wicked

by LWTIS



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, Long live the Queen, M/M, Muffled 'he had it coming' plays in the background, Politics, Revenge, South Park: The Stick of Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: Sometimes, revenge tastes like lavender perfume, and is wrapped up in silks embroidered with the crest of the royal family.-A kingdom falls, a King pines and a Queen rises.





	A Little Wicked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Townycod13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/gifts).



The taste of revenge is strangely hard to define.

It’s the cold tang of steel, on occasion, sharp and electrifying. Sometimes, it’s sweet, cloying, accompanied by warmth and the smell of decay.  
And once in a while, it tastes like lavender perfume, and is wrapped up in silks embroidered with the crest of the royal family.

“Please accept my apologies about the accommodation.” the maid stammers, wringing her hands nervously. Behind her is a spotless room of cream satins and cherry-wood furniture, lit by a dozen sweet-smelling candles. “I know this is probably not the standards you’re used to, your Highness.”

_Darling, I have slept in back allies amongst beggars and rats. For a decade, I have lived in a shack smaller than the one your King grant his chickens._

“It will do just fine. Thank you.” she replies, dipping her head graciously. “If you could let me know when dinner has been served, I’d be grateful.”

“Of course, Princess.”

The door locks with a soft click, and Kenny allows herself to breathe.

It took her ten years and counting, but she is  _here_. Past the thick oak doors and the drawbridge, past the stone walls and elaborate stained glass windows. Deep in the nest of regicides and false rulers.    
Her trunk stands in the middle of the room, heavy lid already tipped open. Her gaze slides over her arsenal of ivory and rose gold, her armour of brocade and silk.  
The King’s invitation stipulated a week, signed off with a promise to make it an experience she will never forget.  
Mouth pressing into a determined line, she reaches for the ribbon holding her hair at bay.

Showtime.

\---

“Red again.” the King murmurs, words muffled against the back of her hand. His lips press a delicate line of kisses down to her wrist before seeking out her gaze. “Your hands are always red.”

Curling her fingers so the light catches on the carmine polish of her nails, Kenny returns the smile.

“I love red.” she croons. “It’s the colour of roses in the height of the summer.”

 _Fire. Skin, freshly singed, blistered raw.  
_ _Blood. Always dripping, sticking to her hand, escaping from never-ending nicks and cuts. Burrowing itself under her nails, too deep to ever wash clean._

“It’s a little reminder.”

 _Crimson robes, tinted with gold.  
_ _A cascade of curls, as wild as their owner is passionate._

“Of all the things that bring me joy.”

\---

“You’re a little wicked, aren’t you?”

Kenny’s lips quirk up at that, eyes crinkling with mirth. The breeze that ruffles through the garden catches in her hair, tugging it loose from its elaborate braid.

“That’s what I am.”

\---

“Won’t you let me take a little peek?”

The request is a familiar one, as is the accompanying honeyed tone. She drops her gaze with practised bashfulness.

“I cannot, my Lord.”

“I am your King.” he says with conviction, fingers brushing against the sequined edge of the veil that covers her nose and her mouth. “A request can easily become an order.”

Safely obscured by the fabric, Kenny’s mouth twists with disdain. Her eyes remain on the floor, fingers timidly smoothing down her skirt. “And you know my feelings about this - about _you_ , your Majesty.” she says in a near-whisper. Her eyelashes flutter delicately as cornflower blue meets hungry brown. “But the only one who will see under this veil is my husband.”

\---

He kisses her under the canopy of the peach trees for the first time, nails sharp against her shoulders and lips scorching through the fabric of her veil. It is as one-sided and akin to a conquest like Kenny imagined it would be.

“Forgive me, Princess.” the King breathes once they break apart, grip still tight. “I respect your dedication to prudish tradition - but I just couldn’t help myself.”

Eyes darting to the side, she giggles and pretends to find his predatory behaviour charming.  
He continues taking liberties throughout the day - standing just a little closer, fingers brushing against hers as they tour the castle. A hand at her back during dinnertime, a touch at her waist that lingers just a little too long.

“You’re so skittish. It’s adorable.” he tells her in a stolen moment between meals, fingers tracing along the curve of her rings. “Makes me wonder just how you will react to a man’s touch elsewhere.”

_I could wreck you six ways to Sunday before you could lift a finger, and I bet your knowledge on the female body could fit onto the side of a thimble._

She glances away, licking her lips in a practised nervous gesture. He just presses closer in response, his thoughts and intentions betrayed in the gleam of his eyes.  
Gods, does Kenny feel so sorry for any women that had the misfortune of getting naked with this man.

“I don’t - I couldn’t answer that, my Lord.”

“There’s no need, Princess.” the ruler of the human kingdom murmurs in response. A thumb rubs over the knuckle of her ring-finger. “Time will tell.”

\---

A day later, in the middle of the suspiciously crowded courtyard, the King drops to his knees and asks for Kenny’s hand in a nauseatingly choreographed fashion.  
With a tearful eye and a choked voice, she accepts.  

\---

Naturally, there is a ball. A spectacle that is as much of an event to show off the Human Kingdom's wealth to the nobility of Zaron as it is to announce their engagement. Kenny wears purple, striking and deep against the cream frills of her skirt and the dazzling gold band on her ring finger. Her veil is a deep violet to match, opaque enough to hide her swirling thoughts.

Thousands of people were starving across the lands, shivering in caves and in rickety barns to find shelter each night. The economy was crumbling under the system's incompetence, the gulf between the criminally rich and the poor growing every day.  
And here was their ruler, their guardian, their King. Spilling expensive wine across the floor for his own amusement, just so he could watch nervous servants trip over their own feet in their rush to clean it up.

She welcomes the trills of violins with feverish gratitude, marking the start of the dances and offering a welcome relief from playing arm candy. They open the dancefloor together, and Kenny is soon swept away in a sea of guests and admirers.  
Dipping into a curtsy at the end of the waltz, she bids a pleasant duke farewell. She is about to plot her manoeuvre towards the banquet table when a very familiar voice rings out behind her.

“May I have this dance, your Highness?”

For a moment, the world stands at a perfect standstill.  
Heart in her throat, Kenny turns to face the King of the Drow Elves. Wrapped in velvet and framed with gold, her memories have not done him justice.

“You came.” she breathes.

His lips twitch, the source of his amusement unclear. Wordlessly, he holds out his hand, spinning her straight into dance the moment their fingers entwine.  
His steps have grown more confident since their last meeting. He doesn’t spare a second glancing at their feet or checking his steps, his attention focused solely on the Princess alone.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Princess Kenny.” he says. The warmth of his hand burns through the fabric at her waist. “Or rather - Queen Kenny, as you shall soon be.”

“It’s an honour.” she replies, schooling her tone into one of polite reverence. “One that I’m very grateful for.”

King Kyle’s lips twitch again, this time with a hint of condescension. “The honour should be his Majesty’s.”

Before she can reply, she’s being pulled closer, Kyle guiding her to avoid collision with another couple. From this proximity, she can see the tiny flowers weaved into his wreath of a crown, shimmering with magic.

“Your speech was lovely.” Kyle murmurs, snapping her out of her reverie. “But I think I preferred the one you gave at the Midsummer Eve feast.”

It takes tremendous amount of effort not to flinch, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Ah.” The speech where Kenny had torn into the gathered nobles for their greed, their blatant disregard for races that weren’t their own. Their ignorance and eagerness to gloss over the uglier parts of their own history, leaving the victims of their selfish wars stranded and struggling. Even when woven behind sweet words and delivered with a lot of honey, her resentment had been crystal clear. It was a huge gamble that ultimately - just barely - paid off, but had almost cost her everything. “That one didn’t grant me too many friends.”

The Elf King raises an eyebrow. The hand resting on her hip tightens for just a moment. “You’d be surprised, Princess.”

On the other side of the ballroom, the conductor instructs the violinists to fall silent, leaving the nymph-like lady beside the harp to lead the song. The energetic steps of the waltz transform into something more intimate, only requiring her to hang on and sway.

The Elf King chews his lower lip before clearing his throat, voice soft. “We have made contact with the tribes living in Elven territory. And just earlier this week, the final plans for the first Orc refugee village have been approved.”

Her heart stutters, the news completely unexpected. “Really?”

Kyle nods, his delight at her reaction obvious. “My lieutenant will be overseeing the construction. She is extremely excited.” He tilts his head, and the light of the chandelier catches on one dangling earring. “We all have so many ideas on how it’d be best to proceed. Once things have settled down, I would love to hear your thoughts on them.”

Kenny can only stare for a long moment.

“...you...would want my opinion?”

“Of course.” Kyle says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re the reason why these plans were born. I would treasure your advice - one ruler to another.”

He spins her around again, and she appreciates the distraction, throat tight. All her life, she had to fight - struggle, claw, feud - to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be _considered_ as an equal.  
And here was Kyle - a _King_ with a lineage as old as time - granting it to her effortlessly. As if it went without saying.

A flash of silver catches her eye, and she sees her husband-to-be in the second before Kyle tugs her back into his arms. The King does not look pleased.

“Careful, my Lord.” she croons, just about resisting the urge to melt against him. “Any more sweet words, and we will upset his Majesty.”

This time, the Elf King doesn’t bother trying to mask his disdain.

“Jealousy is a sign of a weak individual.” he says. Beneath thick red lashes, his eyes flash acid-green. “Someone with a backbone will not pout from the sidelines, wishing for their desires to come true. They simply go and make it happen.”

The music swells in preparation of the finishing crescendo. The Elf King grips her hand tightly before she's pulled into a perfect twirl, leaving her skirt billowing and her pulse in disarray.

\---

It’s thoughts of that warmth that keeps her smiling throughout her wedding day, clad in duchess satin and showered with flower petals and relentless stares.  
When a hand cups her cheek and lips press against her own through the thin fabric of her veil, Kenny closes her eyes and thinks of red.  

\---

It’s a long while until they get a moment of privacy.

There are the vows, the paperwork. The ceremonies under the sanction of the church, and the signatures in the musky depths of the library. The ensuing feast and celebrations last long into the night, until Kenny’s feet are marred by blisters and her neck aches under the weight of her new crown. By the time she is carried across the threshold of their bedchambers, it’s well into the early hours of the morning.   
Despite it all, she feels not a shred of exhaustion. Underneath the silk and lace, her body is wound tight with anticipation.  
Her husband seems ignorant of this, much too occupied with his own excitement. Boots and crown hastily abandoned, he wastes no time tugging her into his lap.   

“At last, my love.” he whispers, hands reaching to cup her cheeks. “Let me see you.”

His fingers dip into her hair, searching for the ties of the veil. Delicately, Kenny lays a hand over his.

“I have a confession to make, my Lord.”

“Oh?”

She hums. Arches her back as she presses closer, free hand moving to rest on the side of his neck.

“You _really_ fucked up ten years ago.”

Before he can move a muscle, she’s on top of him, shoving him on his back. Swiftly, she straddles his chest, pinning him in place whilst her hands find their way around his neck.

“Here’s something I thought you might find interesting.” she says pleasantly, tightening her grip as he starts to thrash, cutting off his scream. He might be bigger than her, but no amount of muscle can compete with a decade’s worth of anguish and _rage_. “The McCormick family had _two_ princes. Or rather, two princesses.” Her thumb traces along his panicking jugular, nail pressing into skin as his eyes widen in realisation. “Either way, you _really_ should have done your research properly before giving the order to slaughter my family.”

His struggles renew, desperate but sluggish with alcohol and exhaustion. Kenny dips her head until their noses almost brush, never breaking eye contact.   

“You are wearing my brother’s crown.” she hisses, cold rage seeping into her voice. “You are wielding my sister’s sword. And you’re unworthy of both.”

And with that, she allows the darkness thrumming under her skin free, clapping a hand over the King’s mouth and letting magic flood through her fingers.  
Underneath her, his body convulses in pain, eyes bulging. His hands claw at the air in a useless attempt to reach her. She waits until his skin turns ashen before she removes her hand, dispelling the magic before letting out a blood-curdling scream.

“Guards! Guards - help! Please, _help_ _!!_ ”

By the time the guards break down the doors and rush in, weapons drawn, she’s cradling the shaking body of the King, shoulders heaving with near-hysteria.

“My Lord!” she cries, desperately stroking his cheeks and thumping at his chest. “My Lord, stay with me! Please, please answer me!”

In the midst of the uproar, their eyes meet. The King parts his lips in one last desperate attempt to form words.  
And Kenny swoops right in to press their lips together, swallowing the last evidence of her crime.

She resists the hands trying to pull her back at first, biting back a sob and clinging onto the body of the King even tighter.  

“You cannot leave me, my love! Please - please don’t leave me!”

There are warm, familiar arms around her, easing her grip and tugging her against a solid body. Through her tears, Kenny can make out a teal tunic and a shining golden symbol of mercy.    
She lets Butters pull her close, lets him pat her back and whisper shaky words of comfort. She allows herself to be lead outside as the healers rush past her, voices loud and panic palpable.  
And for one moment, she allows herself the comfort of being consumed by vengeance.

\---

She looks good in black.

Just hours after the King has been pronounced dead, the Queen stands in front of her mirror, fastening the buttons of her heavy mourning garb. She foregoes most of the careful routine she had become accustomed to over the past years.   
When she glances into the mirror, there are dark purple smudges under tired, red eyes. There are faint lines around her mouth, worn into her skin from years’ of grief, frustration, anger.    
The reflection looks more like himself than it did in a long time.

Kenny McCormick takes in the person in the mirror, and smiles.

\---

The council is already in disarray when she arrives, chairs overturned and two men moments away from throwing punches. She slips into the role of a grieving widow with ease as they scramble to their seats, dabbing at her eyes before opening the floor for discussion.

There is a tremendous amount to contest. The funeral arrangements. The official announcement to the Kingdom, still giddy and drunk from the merrymaking of the wedding. The possibility that the cause of death was perhaps not so accidental - a sabotage. Murder.  
Kenny offers an appropriate display of fear and anger, urging her advisers to offer potential names, suspects, motivations. In the middle of the debate, one man abruptly stands.

“...with all due respect...there is another matter to consider.”

All eyes turn on him. The Queen tilts her head.

“Speak your mind.”

“You are all looking for a suspect behind enemy lines. But the Royal Chambers are heavily guarded at all times...and the only one who was there at the time was the Queen.”

A chilling silence sweeps across the room.  
And then, Kenny bursts into tears.

Her wails rise in volume with every breath, practically inhumane. Long fingers grasp at her hair, shaking with desperation as she pours every ounce of her decade long grief into the performance of a lifetime.  
Chairs scrape across the floor. Voices rise to screams as accusations are thrown. There are hands hovering just above her, hesitant to close the distance. Kenny squeezes her eyes shut, memories flooding the darkness with frightening clarity.  
Small hands cradling her own, a smile that would melt the coldest frost of winter. A soft whisper in the middle of the night, chasing away insecurities. The thrill of chasing after a broad back, hands clinging to the neck of her horse. A thousand little details, a thousand flashes of the faces she will never get to see again.  
Somewhere between the memories, she feels her sobs become genuine, limbs suddenly cold and weak.

There is a tentative touch at her shoulder. When she raises her head, there’s a hand offering a handkerchief.  
There are no more accusations afterwards.

-

An hour later, the talks resume.

The discussion turns towards potential candidates to replace the King sooner than she expects. She allows them to bicker for a few minutes before slamming her hands down on the table.

“ _Enough!_ ”

The silence is immediate. Kenny takes a deep breath, expression morphing into hurtful rage.

“It has not even been a day, and you already talk of marriage? Of other men?” she asks, voice trembling. “I will not permit it, and I refuse to even consider it!”

“But my Queen, please think of - “

“If you suspect there is a traitor - a _murderer_ amongst our ranks, then this is exactly their gamble.” Kenny interrupts him. Delicately, she dabs at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief. “They hope to throw the Kingdom into disarray. Make us desperate, eager to seek out a quick replacement.”

They digest her words. The adviser sitting closest lets out a heavy sigh.

“The Queen is right. There is no one we can trust with that kind of power.”

A murmur runs through the room. She can see the weight of their dawning realisations settle in, seeds of despair beginning to sprout. Swiftly, she gets to her feet.

“Please trust me when I say I know how devastating and terrifying this all is.” she begins, voice breaking at the end. With a sniffle, she raises her chin. “But when I accepted his Majesty’s proposal for marriage, I accepted the responsibility it came with - to the Kingdom, and to its people.”

She had their attention now - all of them.

“They are now my people too. My responsibility. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to protect my people.” Her voice rises in volume, in conviction. “If there was someone behind my husband’s murder, I will find them, and I won’t rest until they’re brought to justice. Let the world see what becomes of those who dare to threaten the Human Kingdom.”

The murmurs start anew, like a swarm of insects set free. The emotion that pulses through them all is one of anger, agreement. Determination.  

She takes a seat again, delicately sliding her fingers together. “Now. What is the most immediate danger to the kingdom?”

A dozen eyes meet before the adviser closest to her clears his throat again. “...the Orcish clan, your Majesty. They have taken residence at the borders, and have been threatening the villagers. News of the King’s demise could give them the encouragement they need to make their move.”

Underneath the veil, Kenny’s lips curl into a smile.

“Leave it to me.”

\---

The Orc leader doesn’t recognise her.  
As she steps into his tent, guards left at the edge of the encampment, Kenny debates whether to feel amused or offended. She doesn’t get much time to consider before there’s a suspicious face dangerously close to her own.

“Why are you here?” the Warchief snarls. Straight to business, it seems.

“Why are _you_ here?” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow. She gets an ugly snort in response.

“Where else would you have us go, human? Your kind laid waste to our home. Or did you already forget?”

She manages to keep a straight face. Just about. “The Elf Kingdom is open to Orc refugees. They’re working hard to re-establish lands and villages to call their own.”

The Warchief snarls, shuddering with disgust. “I would rather _die_ than go crawling to the conniving murderers that aided you humans! We will never stoop that low!”

“So is this what you would reduce our people to instead?” Kenny scoffs, entirely unimpressed. “Desperate thieves and murderers of random children?”

The Orc leader freezes in a manner she finds rather comical. Taking advantage of the sudden silence, she brushes her hair back and reaches for the ribbons resting at the nape of her neck. In a quick flash of fingers, her veil falls.

Stunned, his gaze brushes over her long, sharp ears not unlike his own. The tusk-like fangs resting on her lower lip. Her eyes, pupils narrowing into very familiar slits, surrounded by chilling, inhumane tints of purple. When he finds his voice, it’s barely a whisper.  

“ _You_.”

“That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you, Warchief.” Kenny reminds him, fangs flashing as her lips pull into a wide smile. When she playfully twirls, she makes sure the crest on the sword by her hip is unmistakable.   

“I was your Princess. And now I am your Queen.”

\---

“It’s done.”

The wind is cool across her skin, face unmasked in the rare moment of privacy. The balcony of her chambers arches high above the palace gardens, sufficiently shielded from view.  
Across the country, there are messengers carrying letters from the palace, declaring the elimination of the Orc threat by the hands of the Queen. Detailing the news of peace, of a coalition. Of victory.  
She allows her head to slump forwards, exhaustion finally seeping into her limbs. Deep inside her chest, her heart pulses with old pain.

“I know this is not exactly what you would have wanted.” Kenny murmurs, smile turning rueful. “...especially you, Karen. But I hope you understand why I had to do it like this.”

The silence offers her no confirmation - and yet, it’s oddly soothing.  
As much as a part of her aches to continue hunting, to sabotage, to _burn it all to the ground, and show them all how it felt -_    
She knew where to draw the bitter line.  

She manages to swallow a shaky breath, throat painfully tight. “I know you wanted a garden full of roses, Karen. And Kevin, I remember the kinds of things you wanted for a kingdom.”

 

 _“There cannot be three heirs, Kevin.”_ _  
_ _“Bullshit.” the eldest McCormick scoffs, tone leaving no room for argument. “Karen will lead my armies, and you will lead my army of nerds.”_

_“...your council?”_

_“That’s the one. It’s three-for-all, or none at all. I will accept nothing else.”_

 

The tears on her cheek are hot and salty, the stone banister soaking them up in a matter of seconds.

“I promise to you both, I will make them happen.”

\---

“Your Majesty - I have a message for you.”

Fingers tracing the grooves on the throne’s armrest, Kenny takes a moment to savour the words.

Even after days melted into weeks, the words take her off-guard in the strangest of times.  
The past decade granted her a multitude of names. Some, she carried close to her heart, others she wielded as weapons. Most, she pretended to shrug off with ease whilst carrying them under her skin, poisonous and suffocating.  
A decade ago, the words - the title - would have filled her with dread. Now, they are a reminder of a victory won. A reminder of promises that she cannot wait to keep.

The messenger remains on her knees, awaiting her acknowledgement. Her permission. Kenny clears her throat, hands settling in her lap.

“Please, proceed.”

“I bring word from the King of the Drow Elves.” the young lady says, keeping her head bowed. “He seeks audience with you, as soon as your time permits.”

This time, the Queen wears her joy openly, eyes sparkling as a thrill runs down her spine.

“Please tell him that I await him with open arms.”

\---

 

AN:

EDIT: [PLEASE LOOK AT THIS STUNNING QUEEN](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/post/178412778205/townycod13-lwtis-dude-i-was-thinking-about-a-lil) that towny drew for this ;w; Let her stare into your soul - you know you'd let her break your neck.  

I hope I’m not too late in wishing [townycod13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13) a very happy birthday! <3

Townyyyyy, you are one of the sweetest people I had the the fortune to meet through this fandom. Endlessly talented and always lifting others up, you never fail to put a smile on my face. You are one of the big reasons why I started writing again, and had the courage and the motivation to keep writing and posting my stories, and for that, I am so grateful.

I absolutely adore your Princess Kenny, especially in the [latest iterations with Orcish features](http://townycod13.tumblr.com/post/177840993178/okay-but-if-the-orc-n-elf-features-are-a-thing). Your [lovely fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924302#main) got me thinking about her, and all the what-ifs, and this was the result - I really hope you enjoy it <3 I love you lots, and wish you only fantastic things ahead <3

Title is from Valerie Broussard’s [A Little Wicked](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=46rUBCewhxY), which I would implore y’all to listen to :)


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